People's Pilot, Volume 3, Number 6, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 July 1893 — Page 3

FATHER’S WAY. My tether vaa no pessimist; he loved the things of earth— Its cheerfulness and sunshine, its music and its mirth He never sighed or moped around whenever things went wrong—--1 warrant me he'd mocked at tate with some defiant song; But, being ho wara’t much on tune, when times looked sort o’ blue, Be*4 whistle softly to himself this only tune be knew—- • ••••• e When Brother William joined the war, a lot of us went down To wee -the gallant soldier boys right gayly out of town. A-comin’ home, poor mother cried as if her heart would break, And all us children, too,—for hers, and not for William's sake! But, father, trudgin’ on ahead, his hands behind him so, JKept whistlin’ to himself so sort of solemnlike and low. • • • • « e e “When crops were bad, and other ills befell our homely lot. He’d set of nights and try to act as If he minded not; And when came death and bore away the one he worshiped so. How vainly did his lips belie the heart be numbed with woe! “You see the tell-tale whistle told a mood he’d not admit— He’d always stopped his whistlin’ when he thought we noticed it .I’d like to see that stooping form and hoary head again— To see the honest, hearty smile that cheered his fellow-men. Oh, could I kiss the kindly lips that spake no creature wrong, And share the rapture of the heart that overflowed with song! Oh, could I hear the little tune he whistled long ago, When he did battle with the griefs he would not have us know! —Eugene Field, in Atlanta Constitution.

WARING'S PERIL.

CAR! Cha rues kinq,. u.s. army./ V A [Copyright, 1893. by J. B. Lippincott & Co., and published by special arrangement]

I.— Continued. “Why, certainly, colonel,” said he, “I have been most derelict of late during the visit of all these charming people from the north; and that reminds me, some of them are going to drive out here to hear the band this afternoon and take a bite at my quarters. I was just on my way to beg Mrs. Braxton and Mrs. Cram to receive for me, when your orderly came. And, -colonel, I want your advice about the champagne. Of course I needn’t say I hope you both will honor me with your presence.” Old Brax loved champagne and salad better than anything his profession afforded, and was disarmed at once. As» for Cram, what could he say when the post commander dropped the matter? With all his daring disregard of orders and established customs, with all his consummate sang-froid and what some called impudence and others “cheek,” every superior under whom he had ever served had sooner or later become actually fond of Sam Waring—even stern old Bounds—“old Double

“AND, COLONEL, I WANT YOUR ADVICE ABOUT THE CHAMPAGNE.”

Rounds” the boys called him, one of the martinets of the service, whose first experience with the fellow was as memorable as it was unexpected, and who wound up, after a vehement scoring of some two minutes’ duration, during which Waring had stood patiently at attention with an expression of the liveliest sympathy and interest on his handsome face, by asking impressively: “Now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?” To which, with inimitable mixture ■of suavity and concern, Sam replied: “Nothing whatever, sir. I doubt if anything more could be said. I had no adequate idea of the extent of my misdoing. Have I your permission to sit down, sir, and think it over?” Rounds actually didn’t know what to think, and still less what to say. Had he believed for an instant that the young gentleman was insincere, he would have had him in close arrest in the twinkling of an eye; but Waring’s tone and words and manner were those of contrition itself. It was not possible that one of the boys should dare to be guying him, the implacable Rounds, “Old Grand Rounds” of the Sixth corps, old Double Rounds of the horse artillery of the Peninsula days. Mrs. Rounds had her suspicions when told of the affair, but was silent, for of all the officers stationed in and around the old southern city Sam Waring was by long odds the most graceful and accomplished dancer and german leader, the best informed on all manner of interesting matters social, musical, dramatic, fashionable—the prime mover in garrison hops and parties, the connecting link between the families of the general and staff officers in town And the linesmen at the surrounding posts, the man whose dictum as to a -dinner or luncheon and whose judgment as to a woman’s toilet were most quoted and least Questioned, the man

whose word eould almost make or mar an army girl’s success; nd good old Lady Bounds had two such encumbrances the first winterof their sojourn in the south, and two army girls among so many are subjects of not a little thought and care. If Mr. Waring had not led t£e second german with Margaret Rounds the mother’s heart would have been well-nigh crushed. It was fear of some such catastrophe that kept her silent on the score of Waring’s reply to her irate lord, for if Sam did mean to be impertinent, as he unquestionably could be, the colonel she knew would be merciless in his discipline and social amenities would be at instant end. Waring had covered her with maternal triumph and Margaret with bliss unutterable by leading the ante-Lenten german with the elder daughter and making her brief stay a month of infinite joy. The Rounds were ordered on to Texas, and Margaret’s brief romance was speedily and properly forgotten in the devotions of a more solid if less fascinating fellow. To do Waring justice, he had., paid the girl no more marked attention than he showed to anyone else. De would have led the next german with Genevieve had there been another to lead, just as he had led previous affairs with other dames and damsels. It was one of the ninety-nine articles of his social faith that a girl should have a good time her first season, just as it was another that a bride should have a lovely wedding, a belle at least- one offer a month, a married woman as much attention at an army ball as could be lavished on a bud. He prided himself on the fact that no woman at the army parties given that winter had remained a wallflower. Among such a host of officers as was there assembled during the years that followed on the heels of the war it was no difficult matter, to be sure, to find partners for the thirty or forty ladies who honored those occasions with their presence. Of local belles there were none. It was far too soon after the bitter strife to hope for bliss so great as that. There were hardly any but army women to provide for, and even the bulkiest and least attractive of the lot was led out for the dance. Waring would go to any length to see them on the floor but that of being himself the partner. There the line was drawn irrevocably. The best dancer among the men, he simply would not dance except with the best dancers among the women. As to personal appearance and traits, it may be said first that Waring was a man of slender, graceful physique, with singularly well-shaped hands and feet and a head and face that were almost too good-looking to be manly. Dark hazel eyes, dark brown hair, eyebrows, lashes, and a very heavy, drooping mustache, a straight nose, a soft, sensitive mouth with even white teeth that were, however, rarely visible, a clear-cut chin, and with it all a soft, almost languid southern intonation, musical, even ultra-refined, and he shrank like a woman from a coarse word or the utterance of an impure thought. He was a man whom many women admired, of whom some were afraid, whom many liked and trusted, for he could not be bribed to say a mean thing about one of their

number, though he would sometimes be satirical to her very face. It among the men that Sam Waring was hated or loved —loved, laughed over, indulged, even spoiled, perhaps, to any and every extent, by the chosen few who were his chums and intimates—and absolutely hated by a very considerable element that was prominent in the army in those queer old days—the array of officers, who, by reason of birth, antecedents, lack of education or of social opportunities, were wanting in those graces of manner and language to which Waring had been accustomed from earliest boyhood. His people were southerners, yet, not being slave owners, had stood firm for the union, and were exiled from the old home as a natural consequence in a war in which the south held all against who were not for her. Appointed a cadet and sent to the military academy in recognition of the loyalty of his immediate relatives, he was not graduated until the war was practically over, and then, gazetted to an infantry regiment, he was stationed for a time among the scenes of his boyhood, ostracized by his former friends and unable to associate with most of the war-worn officers among whom his lot was cast. It was a year of misery, that ended in long and dangerous illness, his final shipment to Washington on sick-leave, and then a winter of keen delight, a social campaign in which he won fame, honors, friends at court, and a transfer to the artillery and then, joining his new regiment, he plunged with eagerness into the gayeties of city life. The blues were left behind with the cold facings of his former corps, and hope, life, duty, were all blended in hues as roseate as his new straps were red. It wasn’t a month before all the best fellows in the batteries swore by Sam Waring and all the others ** him, so that

I where there were five who liked there ; were at least twenty who didn't, and , these made up in quantity what they lacked in quality. To sum up the situation, Lieut. Doyle’s expression was perhaps the most comprehensive, as giving the views of the great majority: “If I were his K. O. and this crowd the coort, he’d ’a’ been kicked out of the service months ago.” And yet, entertaining or expressing so hostile an opinion of the laughing lieutenant, Mr. Doyle did not hesitate to seek his society on many an occasion when he wasn’t wanted, and to solace himself at Waring’s sideboard at any hour of the day or night, for Waring kept what was known as “open house” to all comers, and the very men who wondered how he could afford it and who predicted his speedy swamping in a mire of debt and disgrace were the very ones who were most frequently to be found loafing about his gallery, smoking his tobacco and swigging his whisky, a pretty sure sign that the occupant of the quarters, however, was absent. With none of their number had he ever had open quarrel. Remarks made at his expense and reported to him in moments of bibulous confidence he treated with gay disdain, often to the manifest disappointment of his informant. In his presence even the most reckless of their number were conscious of a certain restraint. Waring, as has been said, detested foul language, and had a very quiet but effective way of suppressing it, often without so much as uttering a word. These were the rough days of the army, the very roughest it ever knew, the days that intervened between the incessant strain and tension of the four years’ battling and the slow gradual resumption of good order and military discipline. The rude speech and manners of the camp permeated every garrison. The bulk of the commissioned force was made up of hard fighters, brave soldiers and loyal servants of the nation, to be sure, but as a class they had known no other life or language since the day of their musterin. Of the line officers, stationed in and around this southern city in the lovely spring-tide of 186 —, of a force aggregating twenty companies of infantry and cavalry, there were fifty captains and lieutenants appointed from the volunteers, the ranks, or civil life, to one graduated from West Point. The predominance was in favor of exsergeants, corporals or company clerks —good men and true when they wore the chevrons, but who, with a few marked and most admirable exceptions, proved to be utterly out of their element when promoted to a higher sphere. The entrance into their midst of Capt. Cram with his swell light battery, with officers and men in scarlet plumes and full-dress uniforms, was a revelation to the somber battalions whose officers had not yet even purchased their epaulettes and had seen no occasion to wear them. But when Cram and his lieutenants came swaggering about the garrison croquet ground in natty shell jackets, Russian shoulder knots, riding breeches, boots and spurs, there were not lacking those among the sturdy foot who looked upon the whole proceeding with great disfavor. Cram had two “rankers” with him when he came, but one had been transferred out in favor of Waring, and now his battery was supplied with the full complement of subalterns —Doyle, very much place, commanding the right section (as a platoon was called in those days), Waring commanding the left, Ferry as chief of caissons, and Pierce as battery adjutant and general utility man. Two of the officers were graduates of West Point and not yet three years out of the cadet uniform. Under these circumstances it was injudicious in Cram to sport in person the aiguillettes and thereby set an example to his subalterns which they were not slow to follow. With their gold hatbraids, cords, tassels and epaulettes, with scarlet plumes and facings, he and his officers were already much more gorgeously bedecked than were their infantry friends. The post commander, old Rounds, had said nothing, because he had had his start in the light artillery and might have lived and died a captain had he not pushed for a volunteer regiment and fought his way up to a division command and a lieutenant colonelcy of regulars at the close of the war, while his seniors who stuck to their own corps never rose beyond the possibilities of their arm of the service, and probably never will. But Braxton, who succeeded as post commander, knew that in European armies and in the old Mexican war days the aiguillette was ordinarily the distinctive badge of general officers or those empowered to give orders in their name. It wasn’t the proper thing for a linesman—battery, cavalry or foot —to wear, said Brax, and he thought Cram was wrong in wearing it, even though some other battery officers did so. But Cram was just back from Britain.

“Why, sir, look at the life guards! Look at the horse guards in London! Every officer and man wears the aiguillette.” And Braxton was a Briton by birth and breeding, and that ended it—at least so nearly ended it that Cram’s diplomatic invitation to come up and try some Veuve Clicquot, extra dry, upon the merits of which he desired the colonel’s opinion, had settled it for good and all. Braxton’s officers who ventured to suggest that he trim the plumage of these popinjays only got snubbed, therefore, for the time being, and ordered to get the infantry full dress forthwith, and Cram and his quartette continued to blaze forth in gilded panoply until long after Sam Waring led his last german within those echoing walls and his name lived only as a dim and mist-wreathed memory in the annals of old -Jackson barracks. But on this exquisite April morning no fellow in all the garrison was more prominent, if not more popular. Despite the slight jealousy existing be-tw-een the rival arms of the service, there were good fellows and gallant men among the infantry officers at the post, who were as cordially disposed

towards the gay lieutenant as were the comrades of his own (colored) cloth. This is the more remarkable because he was never known to make the faintest effort to conciliate anybody and was utterly indifferent to public opinion. It would have been fortune far better thap his deserts, but for the fact that by nature he was most generous, courteous and considerate. The soldiers of the battery were devoted to him. The servants, black or white, would run at any time to do his capricious will. The garrison children adored him. There was simply no subject under discussion at the barracks in those days on which such utter variety of opinion existed as the real character of Lieut. Sam aring. As to his habits there was none whatever. He was a bon vivant, a “swell,” a lover of all that was sweet and fair and good and gracious in life. Self-indulgent, said everybody; selfish, said some; lazy, said many, who watched him daydreaming through the haze of cigar smoke until a drive, a hop, a ride or an opera party would call him into action. Slow, said the men, until they saw him catch Mrs. Winslow’s runaway horse just at that ugly turn in the levee below the south tower. Cold-hearted, said many of the women, until Baby Brainard’s fatal illness, when he watched by the little sufferer’s side and brought her flowers and luscious fruit from town, and would sit at her mother’s piano and play soft, sweet melodies and sing in low, tremulous tone until the wearied eyelids closed and the sleep no potion could bring to that fever-racked brain would come at last for him to whom childlove was incense and music at once a passion and a prayer. Men who little knew and less liked him thought his enmity would be but light, and few men knew him so well os to realize that his friendship could be firm and true as steel. * And so the garrison was mixed in its mind as to Mr. Waring, and among those who heard it said at the mess that he meant at all hazards to keep his engagement to breakfast in town there were some who really wished he might cut the suddenly-ordered review and thereby bring down upon his shapely, nonchalant head the wrath of Col. Braxton. [TO BB CONTINUED.]

A PLANT THAT CAN SEE.

Interesting Observations Made by an Indian Botanist. Darwin, in his book on “Movement in Plants,” is of the opinion that many plants may be said to have sight, and the investigations of other famed botanists have confirmed him. An Indian botanist relates the following remarkable incident: “I was sitting in the veranda with one foot against a large pillar, near to which grows a large kind of convolvulus. Its tendrils were leaning over the veranda and to my surprise I noticed that they were visibly turning toward my leg. I remained in that position and in less than An hour the tendrils had laid themselves over my leg. This was in the early morning, and when at breakfast I told my wife of this discovery we determined to make further experiments. When we went out into the veranda the tendrils had turned their heads back to the railing in disgust. We got a pole and leaned it against the pillar quite twelve inches from the nearest spray of convolvulus. In ten minutes they began to curve themselves in that direction, and acted exactly as you might fancy a very slow snake would act if he wanted to reach anything. The upper tendrils bent down and the side ones curved themselves till they touched the pole, and in a few hours were twisted right around it. It was on the side away from the light and, excepting the faculty of sight, I can imagine no other means by which the tendrils could be aware that the pole had been placed there. They had to turn away from the light to meet it, and they set themselves visibly toward it within a few minutes of the pole being placed there."

The Miner’s Cabin.

One charm of the anthracite coal region of Pennsylvania has almost disappeared, and that is the comfortable and even picturesque log shanty of the Irish miner. The best of these were well chinked from the weather, and within their flattened logs were whitewashed and spotless. The floor was scrubbed until it was nearly as white as the walls. On one side was a great fireplace, with a large grate piled high with perhaps a hundred pounds of glowing anthracite. Wrinkled old Irish women, in the whitest of starched caps, sat in front of the grate, knitting stout blue woolen stockings. To the tiny breaker boys coming home or winter nights after a hard day’s work these shanties, with their cheerful fires, were welcome resting places where they might stand in front of the fire unrebuked while black streams ran from their grimy boots over the shining floor. The shanties have given place to formal tenements, and the Irish miners are retreating before thousands of even poorer laborers from continental Europe.

Americans Should Learn This.

The Indians on the Missouri river tread water just as the dog treads it. Among the natives of Joanne, an island on the coast of Madagascar, young persons walk the water, carrying fruit and vegetables to ships becalmed or, it may be, lying in the offing miles away. At Madras, watching their opportunity, messengers with letto-s secured in an oilskin cap, plunge into the boiling surf and make their way to the vessels outside, treading the water through a sea in which no ordinary boat could live. At the cape of Good Hope men used to proceed to the vessel in the offing through mountain billows, treading the water as they went with the utmost security.

In order to discourage suicide, Swed ish law compels the body of every person who commits suicide to be sent bs the dissecting room o* the nearse? university.

WORLD'S FAIR SIDE-SHOWS.

The Wonderful Villages of the Midway Plaisance. Mintatari- Cities of Strange Race* A Fmture That Affords Much Pleasure to Visitors—Odd Sights and Sounds. [Special Chicago Correspondence]

OTHING seems ■ fto afford the I average sight- * seer at the fair A more genuine pleasure than a trip through I that widely fa- | mous thoroughly A * are ’ the MidW ' way Plaisance. One can hardly stir abroad in these pip in i? “ times of pleasF ure * n ° ur world’s fair city, be it afoot or by conveyance, without O hearing on every hand

scraps of conversation relating to the wonders of its many attractions. The “Playzaunce” is upon every tongue, and deplorable indeed is the condition of the person who has not paid it a visit and become acquainted with its mosques, theaters, panoramas, villages, etc. Even the gamin on the downtown street corner can direct you to the several abodes of the Turks, Javanese. Dahomeyans or any of the strange races, and he regards with a commiserating air the poor unfortunate frater who has not “done" the “whole blooming show” from one end to the other. The exposition proper must needs first claim the attention of the visitor, and until he has viewed the wonders o’er contained in the great white buildings, and made himself familiar with the multitudinous wonders of the arts, manufactures and other departments, he cannot conscientiously say he has I

teen the fair, but if he departs without having turned his steps westward through that wonderful avenue of mysteries and dropped in on the queer people of all lands, he will find himself sadly deficient in information when his friends in his distant home inquire about the sights of the Plaisance of which they have read so much. While embraced in the general plan of the fair and considered part and parcel thereof, the enterprises of the Plaisance are private, and partake somewhat of the nature of side-shows. Each one has a fixed price of admission, which of itself is but a mere trifle, but when once within the gates the cost of entering is apt to be largely increased if a check » not placed upon one’s appetite for viands and drinks of all kinds, and if this desire to possess the

IN THE IRISH TILLAGE.

curious and beautiful souvenirs on sate is not promptly curbed. The first thing that strikes the eye on the left on entering the Plaisance from the fair ground is the picturesque Blat-1 ney castle and its surrounding cottages, which compose the interesting Irish industrial exhibit, presided over by Lady Aberdeen. This is the only enterprise in the Midway Plaisance not operated and promoted for private gain. The profits accruing f-om this exhibit go into a fund created for the purpose of making the people of Ireland self-sus-taining and for removing the taint of poverty from the Emerald isle. It is a worthy enterprise, and presents some very interesting and entertaining features, among them being the cclrbrpted

Blarney stondt which is sei in an e» act reproduction es the historic castle. The entrance to the village is a gem of early Celtic areMtectare, bearing over the portal the wordb: “Cead Mile Failte," which, translated, bids the visitor a hundred thousand welcomes. Once within the mimic city, the stranger finds much to instruct and amuse. Here the process of dairying, lace-making and other Irish industries are faithfully represented, and the time may be pleasantly passed in listening to genuine Irish songs, dances, eta The funds to sustain this enterprise were subscribed by people of every political and religious faith x Ireland and by public-spirited citizens of this country. There is another Irish village in the Plaisance, on the right-hand side further west, which offers many fear tures of interest, but the one that has the Blarney stone must, and very naturally, attract the most attention. A little further along the Plaisance, on the right-hand side going west, there is the Javanese village, of which so much has been said and written. Without going into a detailed account of its many queer features, we can but say that it is well worth the price asked to pass through this strange community, rhe people themselves are the greatest curiosities of this remarkable exhibit. Their houses, mode of living and many curios from the land of the Malay offer ample interest for an hour’s visit, but when the visitor leaves their gates he does so with an impression that there is a race that cannot well lay claim to being anything like clean in their habits. A little further along are the German villages, “Old Vienna” on the left and the German village proper on th® right, in either of which there is much to be seen and heard that will afford the visitor a profitable hour’s pause. Aside from the beer and music, which are indispensable adjuncts to most all German entertaiments, there is much to please and instruct in the various productions of art and industrial skill. The concerts in themselves are always a great attraction for lovers of martial music,and great crowds of Germans ar® constantly drawn to the daily concert® in these villages.

IN THE GERMAN VILLAGE.

In the Immediate neighborhood of the German villages are the Turkish, mosques and bazars in which are faithfully portrayed the different phases of life in the oriental cities. Regularly every day, at stated intervals of about two hours, may be heard the plaintive wail of the muezzin who from his lofty perch on the mosque calls his brethren to prayer. Not a word of the invocation is distinguishable; the chant is simply a long, somewhat melodious and plaintively quavering intonation. It would not become a professional muezzin to chant otherwise. He continues on this strain for several minutes long enough for a wonderfully cosmopolitan crowd to collect; and as usual it is an Irishman who volunteers the first criticism of the performance. "Begorra, me sadder on the ould sod once had a baste of a donkey wid a vice intoirely loike thot chapl” Meantime the Moslems have heard, and here and there in the alleys of tha village red fezes may be seen, bowing to the ground. To be in good and proper form, a Moslem should kneel and bow to the southeast—in the direction of Mecca. But the poor fellows appear to be a good deal “turned around’* in Chicago, and are bowing to all points of tha compass. Further along are the Tillages of the Indians and Dahomey ana, the latter being among the most attractive features in the Plaisance. This village recalls, to use the words of John C. Eastman, in an article in the Chautauquan, tha stories of Stanley, Livingstone, and Paul du Chaillu. It is inclosed by a fence made of bark with a platform running along the top and the entii* distance of the Midway front There are also signal towers near the entrance and into these thatched ooxes black and sentinels are to be seer every day dancing madly when they are not singing and shaking long loop* of goats’ hoofs. There is no doubt that the Dahomeyans are more closely allied with the cruel and superstitious ptafi tices of savagery than any other conn try represented in Midway. The worn* en are as fierce if not fiercer than thf men and all of them have to be watched day and night for fear they may use their spears sot other purposes than a i barbaric embellishment of their dances •Thf ray out of it, for Aimralia, la to set her pvici'<w-R to killing rabbl’a.--Gtevelww Plait dealer